A Christmas Ghost Story
by The Lighthouse
Summary: Based on the classic A Christmas Carol, starring Courtney. / Ch2: Courtney focused on her ghostly face. "But—but how? You're… I mean, three years ago, you…" "What? Died? Oh, don't worry, I know. I'm not one of those ghosts who don't realize they're dead.
1. Chapter 1

**A Christmas Ghost Story**

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Chapter 1: Christmas Is Cancelled

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I am not going to stand here and pretend that no one has heard the story I am about to relate, that no one has put it in scene, or rewritten it. Many versions have been created of the classical tale written by Charles Dickens in 1843, but I like to think each one had its own charm, its own personality.

That said, there really isn't much to be said before starting the story. I much prefer to start it and let you figure things out on your own.

All you need to know for now is that on the night before Christmas, Heather Rhodes went to visit her long-time friend and business partner, Courtney Reyes, for a much-needed girl talk.

Heather had not been feeling well that evening, but after a few words with her old friend, she was soon laughing like she hadn't in years.

"You're worse than me," Courtney declared playfully. "Remember when you stood up DJ just as punishment for asking you out?" she smiled conspiringly. "Poor guy. He always had a crush on you and you didn't even give him a chance."

"Oh, yeah" Heather smiled, but she also looked a bit guilty. "That was by far the meanest thing I've ever done."

Courtney smiled at her friend and with warm appreciation. "You were a marketing genius."

After their talk, Heather felt much better. She left her good friend's office with the same weight on her shoulders, but a lighter heart.

And that is all you need to know for now.

* * *

"Joy to the world! the Lord is come

Let earth receive her King!

Let every heart

prepare Him room!"

And heaven and nature sing

and heaven and nature sing,

and heaven, and heaven and nature sing!"

The streets of New York were alive with the sound of carol singers that had become so typical of the holiday season. The makeshift director of the crew watched pleasantly as people walked by, when he saw a woman going towards them.

He turned to her and brought the can he was holding a little forward, and he didn't have to force the smile on his face when he saw the cream mink coat and hat she wore, and the expensive-looking tote bag she carried on her shoulder, secured by both glove-covered hands.

"Do you want to make a donation?" He asked upon her arrival.

The woman in the mink coat chuckled, as if the proposition had been humorous. "Oh, no," she said. "I am here to ask you to leave."

The man staggered. "Excuse me?"

"I am afraid you have to leave," she said, but there was nothing sorry about her tone of voice.

"But why-?"

"You are conducting an illegal business, blocking the sidewalk and disturbing the peace," she said firmly. "And unless you have a licence –which I strongly suspect you do _not_-, you are in fact breaking the law."

The crew had stopped singing, and they all stared at the woman in front of them. From a distance, they had failed to see the cold fierceness in her eyes; but now it was clear as day. It seemed alien to think, right now, that she had approached them to give them charity.

A young boy, one of the bolder of the group, spoke up. "Excuse me, but we're not breaking any law. Caroling doesn't _need_ a license, and I know because I asked my brother—he's a lawyer."

The woman turned her unwavering gaze on him. "You _do_ need a license, as long as you are on private property," she went on. "And guess what? As soon as you set foot in _this_" she pointed to the ground, "part of the sidewalk, next to this" she pointed up to the massive building they were next to. "enterprise, you are in private property," she glared. "_My_, private property. So unless you want me calling the Police, you have no choice but to leave. _Now_."

The singers had all fallen quiet. They looked at each other, then at the woman, who stared back, glaring daggers at all of them. Finally, one by one, they left the spot—they saw no other choice.

The woman stood on the sidewalk and watched as the group disbanded; making sure that last one of them was officially out of her property.

As soon as they had, she produced her cell phone out of the pocket of her coat and flipped it open. She dialed for her assitant as she walked inside the massive building. _Her_ massive building.

Inside was just as cold as the outside, the girl remarked indignantly as she fixed her heavy coat closer to her. At least the inside wasn't covered in the ever-so-unfortunate snow.

"_Falcon_," chirped a voice on the other line.

"Bridgette, can you do me a favor," she said flatly, nothing requesting about her tone, so that it wasn't so much a petition as it was a statement.

"_Sure, Courtney._"

"Hey," she stopped. "What were we talking about yesterday?" she chided sternly.

"…_Professional distance_."

"Exactly."

Courtney crossed the lobby towards the elevator, pressed for her floor and leaned back to wait, taking note absent-mindedly of how strangely empty the elevator was for this hour.

A sigh was heard on the other line. "_What did you need, Miss Reyes?_"

"Much better. Now contact security and tell them to guard the door for carol singers."

"_Carol singers?_" her assistant couldn't help but to repeat her boss.

"Yes, carol singers," Courtney confirmed with impatience. "They block the street, they don't let me concentrate, and I want them _out_."

"_Okay, I'm right on it then,_" the other woman accepted; and if she still didn't agree with her boss' course of action, she didn't show it.

"And bring me the progress reports to my office immediately. And a black coffe, too."

"_Got it. Anything else?_"

"No, that's it for now," she said. The conversation ended and the woman dedicated to staring up at the numbers as they passed by.

It is at this point clear that the protagonist of our story is a villain.

Now, while there isn't a lot that needs to be said about Heather (yet, at least), there is a lot to be said about Courtney Reyes.

The first thing you need to know is that she was not, by any means, old. This is the first thing that needs to be cleared up because very often people hearing her speak, in that authoritative, no-nonsense voice of hers, get confused about her age. Courtney was actually in her mid-twenties, but she was indeed the sole president of the Rhodes & Reyes Law Firm of Manhattan, New York.

The second thing you need to know is that Courtney was an intimidating person to be around.

To know Courtney Reyes was to fear Courtney Reyes, and anyone from the town could confirm that. There was something about her rigid perfection, that could frighten someone out of their wits. The air seemed to be chiller when she was around.

Because of her age, Courtney had had to learn all the tricks for doing business and making a name for herself, and _fast_.

In consequence, her chocolate brown hair was always pin-straight and cut about an inch above her shoulders. She was always dressed elegantly in neutral, muted colors, that contrasted with the vitality of her warm, mocha-colored skin and her hair. However, they did _not_ contrast with her eyes—black, hard and sharp as a hawk's, it seemed as if the entire iciness of her being gathered and potentiated in that one feature. The windows of the soul, the one feature you could not hide or smooth over.

She was the roughest, toughest, most power-hungry business-woman in a thousand-mile range. She was shallow. Sneaky. And nobody could remember the last time she had treated a person with warmth. Manipulative. Greedy. And as soon as she got something she wanted, she had her eyes on something new, ten times bigger.

But anyway, the protagonist of our story –who also happens to be the villain-, watched as the numbers passed by, going over her deeds for the day in her head. Suddenly remembering something, she dialed the number of her assistant again.

"_Falcon._"

"Bridgette, do me another favor," she said, once again in a tone that had nothing _requesting_ about it. "Tell Trent Rivers to come to my office right away."

"_He isn't here yet._"

Courtney paused. "Come again?" she said in a strained tone.

"_W—well it's early_," Bridgette stuttered, frightened at her boss' tone, even though she personally had done nothing wrong. "_Y'know, it's almost Christmas, so schedules are looser. People are starting to come in later and leave earlier._"

Courtney shut her eyes tightly. "Christmas, huh?" Once again that word. The prospect of that particular holiday alone put Courtney in a bad mood. As if she hadn't had enough with the carol singers…

Her assistant was quiet.

Courtney sighed. "Tell him to come to my office as soon as he deigns to arrive."

"_Will do_."

"Thanks, Bridgette."

The elevators door opened and Courtney walked into her floor in direction of her office without a pause.

"Beth!" she barked as soon as she saw the familiar girl, causing said girl to drop all the papers she was holding, quite awkwardly to begin with.

"_Y—ye-eth_ m'am?"

"Turn on the heat in my office" Courtney said in passing. "I absolutely hate the cold, and I always seem to get stuck with it."

"Okay, _Mi-thh_," Beth responded. She waited until the other woman was at a safe distance, and turned back to her coworker Ezekiel conspirationally. "That'_th_ what _happen-th_ when your _th-oul_ is _froth-en_. The cold alway_-th_ goe_-th_ with you."

Ezekiel looked at her but did not add to the conversation; his benevolent, God-fearing nature could make him chastise his coworker for saying bad things about people behind their back, but in all honesty, he knew that whatever Beth could say wouldn't even begin to compare with the kind things Courtney Reyes could fling out.

Besides, Beth's words had struck as true.

Meanwhile, her very own assistant Bridgette Falcon walked out of the elevator, attempting to blow off a lock of blond hair that had fallen right in front of her face. The massive coat she had put on to fight the extreme cold they were facing was falling off one shoulder; plus she was balancing a handful of files and a cup of coffe in her arms. She had been doing a good job at it, especially given her ungainly nature, until someone bumped on her, knocked the files off her arms and left without apologizing.

"Ouch. Damn!" Frowning, she kneeled down to collect Courtney's files.

"You okay, Bridgette?" A concerned voice immediately asked. The blond looked up to find DJ, a coworker from floor 21.

"Yeah," she said, as the man helped her pick up her things. "Thanks. I just gotta take these to Courtney immediately."

"Here, I'll help you," DJ offered, taking some of his friend's weight; he was carrying a box under one arm himself, but the added weight was no problem for him. DJ was so big and muscular that he was could be intimidating at first sight, but as soon as he opened his mouth you realized he was a sweet guy. They both walked towards Courtney's office.

"God, why does it have to be so cold?" Bridgette complained softly. "I hate the cold, it makes everything awkward."

DJ smiled and made a sound of soft disagreement. "Yeah, I know but… the cold and the snow are just so… holiday-like, don'cha think? I mean the cold, it makes everyone wanna cuddle together, you know? It helps the togetherness of Christmas."

Bridgette couldn't help but smile as DJ's words automatically lifted her spirits. "You know what, DJ? You are completely right. I think I quite like the cold, now, too."

She couldn't stop smiling, as she realized she now saw her surroundings in a different light. She turned to the man. "God, how do you do that? It's like you're that holiday advocate that reminds us all the true meaning of Christmas."

The large man all but blushed. "Oh, I just try best to keep the Christmas spirit in my… _heart._"

"_Whoa_."

Both Bridgette and DJ stopped on their tracks as a wave of heat hit them as soon as the stepped into C's office, knocking their breaths out of them.

"_Oof_. Did we enter the sauna by mistake?" DJ muttered, breathlessly.

"Oh, Bridgette." Courtney looked up from her work to acknowledge the two people in her office, "You can leave those on my desk."

The two turned their attention to the brunette. She was now clad in only a light, grey office dress and open toe heels, having stripped off her coat, sweater, second sweater, overshirt, mink hat and thick wool pantyhose.

"Courtney, why is it so hot in here?" Bridgette said, wiping the sweat that had begun to form on her forehead.

"Because the cold is dreadful, and I can't work with it," Courtney said, taking the files and beginning to skim through them, examining them with an expert eye.

"But then, why do you leave the whole rest of the building to freeze over?" the blond asked, gesturing outside, where through the glass wall you could see everyone wearing their thickest clothes.

Courtney looked up. "Well I can't very well waste all that heating power on the whole of the building, now can I?" she said with a severe gaze, silently instructing her not to question her any further. She then turned her attention to DJ. "Mr. Cooke, may I inquire what you need?"

"Courtney, you've known me since college, girl," the large man chuckled, as he took off his coat and scarf, unable to take the heat any longer. "You can call me DJ."

Courtney smiled patronizingly. "Of course, but there's no reason to forgo professional distance, now is there?"

DJ opened his mouth and looked as if he was about to say something, but then closed it again and just smiled at the girl. "Well, I'm here to invite you girls to the Christmas Party tonight. It's in Webster Hall," he said, taking two bright red and silver invitations from the bix in his arms and handing them to the two girls.

"That's awesome, DJ! Thanks!" Bridgette said.

Courtney looked at her invitation, which read:

**C H R I S T M A S B A L L 2 0 1 0**

And below that, in cursive letters:

**Thanks for the Memories**

The brunette rolled her eyes.

"So? Are you guys coming?" DJ asked.

"Sure!" Bridgette chirped.

"I'm not," Courtney said airily, handing the invitation back to him, though DJ didn't take it.

"Oh," he said sadly. "Are you… doing something else?"

"Nope," she said, taking a sip from her coffe.

The man looked thrown off. "Then, why…-?"

"Oh, Mr. Cooke, don't be ridiculous," Courtney snapped, looking more insulted than flattered by the invitation. She stood up and crossed the room to fetch a file, intent on not losing a minute of her time. "I have enough to take care of as it is. I have no time to go to a party!" She sighed, "Besides, I'm not interested in spending the night in fake merriment—next to other people who fake merriment."

"Say what you want," Bridgette started catiously. "But let me remind you that you used to go to all those parties."

"Sure I did!" Courtney replied powerfully. "Back when I _needed_ to. Back when I was still climbing on this business. Now I'm high enough that I don't need to worry about attenting this kind of things," she explained. Bridgette pursed her lips, not completely convinced of her reasons.

"Besides," she went on. "As I said, I have a lot to take care of. The meeting with the Orrick people is in three days and so far, half the vacants for promotion lawyers are empty."

"But, Courtney… it's _Christmas_," DJ intervened brightly, clearly unaware Courtney's animosity for the holidays, and his voice gained an uplifting quality. "Everything's different—it doesn't matter what you've been doing the rest of the year. It's an opportunity to change, to start fresh."

Behind him, Bridgette was about to tear up.

In front of him, Courtney received the statement with a frown; unaffected by DJ's words, which would turn any other human being to jelly.

But Courtney personally hated jelly, almost as much as she hated Christmas. "It also happens to be the busiest _freakin'_ time of the year," she responded, ice cold. "Christmas is the top most expensive holiday in the world. And for what? It always brings nothing but more laziness into this world."

DJ gasped as if she had spoken blasphemy. And, to DJ, she probably had.

Bridgette simply stood by unimpressed. She was used to Courtney's thoughts on Christmas; if not, she probably would have reacted like DJ.

"_Christmas_ is the time when your employees ask you to pay them a day's work, for no work!" Courtney complained. "When the TV gets clogged with cheesy Christmas movies, and when parents go into debt for buying their brats an unnecessary amount of gifts—_All_ of this, in the precisely coldest time of the year! And I _**hate**_ the cold!

"It's the time," she continued grimly, turning to the window "when the honest, hardworking, well-off people of the world are guilted into giving up their hard-earned money for the undeserving groundlings dirtying every single corner of this town!" She turned back to them, and plopped down on her chair.

"A joke, Christmas is," she sighed. "Just one more invention of the commercial world."

DJ stared at her in stunned silence for a while.

"Um…" he started in a small voice. He looked down at the box of invitations on his hands, then back at Courtney. "Can I still invite everyone else?"

Courtney rolled her eyes. "They can do whatever they want with their night," she sighed. "The union forces me to pay them anyway," she added under her breath, as DJ's face brightened up in a smile.

"Thanks, Courtney!" he said excitedly as he virtually ran out of the room. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, DJ," Bridgette called sweetly.

"Bye," Courtney muttered.

"And a Happy New Year!" the man added, already door on the door.

"I said GOODBYE!" Courtney snapped, throwing a random ornament at the door DJ had the sense to close right on time to avoid taking a red bulb to the head.

Courtney cast her assistant a look.

"Fix your hair, Bridgette."

The blonde remembered her hair had come undone while she was running errands. She used Courtney's mirror to arrange it into its usual low ponytail, leaving two thick locks to framing her face as usual. Courtney's personal opinion was that her style was too casual, but she liked it; she thought it was fitting for an assistant. Working at a Law Firm was not actually Bridgette's ideal; this job had been a favor from Courtney to her friend for almost twenty years.

Sometimes, Bridgette thought she forgot she was her friend as well as her employee.

When the blonde was done, she saw her boss was staring out of the large window. It was quite an astounding view from that floor; you could see almost all of town from there. Courtney often stood in front of the window when she had a free moment for quiet contemplation. Bridgette's own theory was that it made her feel powerful, being able to oversee the whole of town like they were her subjects; as a reminder of everything she had accomplished. And as Bridgette knew well, she had accomplished a lot.

Courtney suddenly spoke. "Tonight is the night that Heather died."

Bridgette "Yeah, I know," she answered softly. "DJ never forgets," she added, looking back at the man still distributing invitations and Christmas cheer around the building.

Courtney for some reason found this funny. She smirked like she knew something Bridgette didn't. "Of course he doesn't," she whispered.

Before she could respond, Bridgette got a call. She touched the hands-free on her ear and responded. "Falcon." She listened to the message and looked warily at her boss, knowing that this wouldn't sit well with her. "Okay, thanks.… Hey Courtney."

Her boss looked up, irritated. "Bridgette, _what_ did we talk about?"

Bridgette looked tired. "Sorry. Miss…- oh why do I have to call you Miss Reyes? I'm your oldest friend _ever_. You've said so yourself."

The other woman sighed. "Bridgette. If I have an asistant who goes 'hey Court', here and there, the rest of the staff are gonna think they can treat me like that too. And though I could easily give them a scare to let them know exactly _who_ I am, it's easier to just give a good first impression and be done with it," she said. "You understand. Now what was the message?" she said before Bridgette could respond.

"Mrs. Richardson wants to see you."

"I don't know any Mrs. Richardson."

"Yes, you actually do. She works at the Manhattan Orphanage," Bridgette reminded. "She's called before, remember?"

"Oh, right," Courtney said, her face revealing she was not a welcome guest. "Just let her in."

Bridgette left to receive the visitor. Not too long after the door opened, and in came a voluptuous black woman in a business suit, with her head held high. Her sharp black eyes located the highest power in the room sitting behind the desk. She smiled.

"The Rhodes and Reyes Firm, I assume," she said, extending a hand which Courtney rose from her seat to shake. "Have I the pleasure of speaking to Rhodes or Reyes?"

"Reyes. Take a seat," Courtney said, as she did the same. "I'm afraid Miss Rhodes died three years ago. This very night actually."

Unlike Courtney expected, the woman paused and looked fazed, and then asked, "Is that why there's an office right next to this one that's all dark and empty? Was that hers?" she inquired with true care in her voice; while other, more professional business-people would have let it slide right away. Courtney instantly took mental note of this.

"Yes, that was hers," she confirmed.

The woman smiled. "I think it's cool what you're doing—leaving that office unocuppied. It's a nice tribute."

"It's not a tribute at all," Courtney responded. "It's only empty because I haven't yet found another fit to be my partner, that's all. Now, will you tell me what brings you here?"

It this had been a regular client, she would have been treated with much more courtesy. But Courtney had a pretty good idea of what this woman's business was. Once again, it was _that_ time of the year.

"Of course," the woman said, recovering quickly from Courtney's statement. "Well I'm Mrs. Richardson, I represent the Manhattan Orphanage, you can just call me Leshawna," she said boisterously, and Courtney had to supress a cringe. "We're actually collecting charity from a number of companies. And we see you've been doing increasingly well this year so…" Courtney couldn't help but smile at this, knowing that this was all thanks to her. "…we thought you would be in position to contribute to the institution." That is when Courtney stopped smiling.

"The answer is no," she interrupted.

"No, see, we're looking to improve our building," the woman went on spilling information despite the negative. _Obviously rehearsed_, Courtney took mental note. "I don't know if you've passed by the Orphanage lately, but it's practically falling apart!" she laughed. "Plus the economy's been rough this year, and we need an incentive if we want to get the kids toys for Christmas."

"I am really not interested."

Leshawna looked thrown off. "I don't think you understand, Miss," she said. "This money will be used for food, toys, health services, to improve the building so it's no longer dangerous falling on our heads!"

Courtney looked bored as she waited for her to finish. "Okay, I listened to all you had to say, and I stand by my previous statement," she said. "Now please stop wasting my time."

Leshawna pursed her lips together, letting her irritation shine through. This wasn't business anymore; now it was personal. "Okay. _What_ do _you_ think happens when we don't have enough money to buy everyone presents? Are we supossed to tell them Santa's ran out of cash? Are we supossed to tell them he ain't real?"

"Why yes, let them learn the truth!" Courtney snapped. "The earlier the better! Look, Mrs. Richardson, frankly I have _no time_ to worry about someone else's kids. I have a _company_ to run if you didn't notice."

Leshawna looked at the woman in front of her with disgust. She opened her mouth to say something, but Courtney held up a hand.

"Furthermore," she started. "I recommend you do not keep telling me stuff like this. Because if your institution is _really_ falling apart, as you put it, then it is liable for closure," Courtney watched the color drain from the woman's face. "And I happen to have the power to do that."

Leshawna was quiet for a long time, staring at the woman in front of her as if she was seeing the face of the Devil itself. Then her expression fell into one of fury; she collected her things and got up. Without a word, she stomped out of the room, slamming the door on her way out.

Not long after, Bridgette came back in. "Accountancy needs you to sign this," she said, leaving a few papers on her desk.

As Courtney quickly read through them, the blonde directed her view to outside the office. She had seen Mrs. Richardson storm off, and she could form a good idea of how the meeting had gone like, parting from the knowledge that Courtney did not _do_ charity, so she didn't need to ask; but she asked anyway.

"What just happened?"

Courtney scoffed in response. "Those damned orphanage directors," she said, poison in her voice. "It's for the _kids_, they say! I bet you _anything_ those blood-suckers keep all that money to themselves."

Bridgette looked at her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Courtney sighed.

"Why don't you ever give charity, if you know what it's like to be poor?"

The other girl froze. She looked up at her assistant with a glower, and for a moment her professionalism was gone, and instead her eyes clouded with the most primal, disruptive type of anger.

She could not _believe_ she had gone there.

After a while, Courtney regained her composure. She leaned back on her seat and folded her hands togehter.

"You give money to poor people all you got is a problem," she said, back in her haughty tone. "You don't _even_ get a thank you. And you can rest easy knowing they're going to spend it all in drugs."

"You don't know that."

"Well, neither do you," Courtney said with a shrug. "You don't ever know. That's why it's best to just take care of yourself." She produced a pen and signed the papers she had been brought. "Let that Mrs. Richardson take care of her institution, and _I'll_ take care of mine."

And with that, she considered the conversation over.

However, before Bridgette could attempt to respond, Ezekiel poked his head inside the office. "Miss Reyes?" he asked, hesitating, staggering and finally staying in the threshold since she hadn't signaled him to come in.

"What's the matter?"

"We have a situation, _eh_."

"Well come up here! I can't very well read that file situation from here!" In the time it took for her to say those words, Ezekiel jumped and crossed the room at full speed, arriving to her desk with a paper which Courtney practically snatched from his hands.

"Where's this report coming from?"

Ezekiel smiled. "From me. It's actually my first report, eh," He stood proudly, his cheerfulness not disminishing when he saw Courtney quickly skimming through the pages he would have preferred had been read through carefully and given feedback on.

Courtney's brow furrowed. She looked up at the man with a tired expression. "Very funny. Where's the real report?"

Ezekiel felt his heart sink. "I…I…" he said in a small voice, "that _is_ the real…-" and then he was quieted by one disbelieving look from his boss.

"This is below average. Not even an acceptable first draft." She slapped the report to the table, folded her arms and looked at Ezekiel with angry disappointment. "I am not pleased."

The man was a shadow of his confidence self that had entered the office; he stood awkwardly, staring at his feet not knowing what to say that his boss would like to hear.

Courtney rolled her eyes, "Just tell me what it says."

"I-it's _aboot_ Johann Avery's resignation," he informed.

"_What_?" the woman shrieked. Ezekiel recoiled and pulled his toque over his eyes like he wanted to be swallowed by it. Courtney stood up and rounded her desk. "Are you serious? Oh that is just _great_! He was supposed to manage the interviews for newcomer lawyers so I could focus on the meeting with Orrick!"

Bridgette intervened, "Courtney, it's okay, you can focus on the meeting and take care of the freshmen later," she proposed blithely.

The brunette turned to her. "No, those freshmen are a _vital_ part for the meeting!"

"Oh. Uh…" the blonde faltered, but kept trying to appease the brunette, "well look, don't worry, I'm sure it'll all come together any…-"

"Call Trent Rivers in here!" Courtney order, completely forgetting he wasn't in the building the first time she had requested him.

Fortunately for Trent, he _was_ in the building when Ezekiel went to fetch him, and they were both able to escape Courtney's wrath when they returned to the office shortly after she had given the order.

"Mr. Rivers, what is this about Avery bailing out on us?"

"He accepted another job in Arizona," the man quickly explained.

An eyebrow was raised. "Something better than what he had here?"

"No, something lower. Apparently he just found out his girlfriend was pregnant and he wanted to live with her."

Upon hearing this Courtney's whole face darkened in a scary way. "Are you telling me," she started, taking steps towards the man. "that I _lost_ my senior lawyer some _skank_ in Arizona, right before the biggest meeting of the _year_!"

"I, uh, um…" Trent trailed off, unsure of how to answer to that.

Courtney rolled her eyes at her employee's blubbering and rounded her desk to fall back on her chair. "Fine." she sighed, massaging her temples. "I'll have to do it myself, _as always_. Those freshmen better arrive fast from Ohio."

Trent looked fearful at that. He looked back at Ezekiel, who signalled for him to go ahead. The green-eyed young man took a deep breath and braced himself for his boss' reaction.

"That's… kinda the other problem," he finally said, and promptly turned on the TV Courtney had on a corner.

On the TV, a blonde woman was talking in front of a map of the United States.

"…_snow storm compares to some of the greatest ever. In Ohio, all highways and interstates have been shut down after several crashes. Officials expect the airlines to cancel all scheduled flights. In one dramatic rescue, a mother and three children…-_"

Trent turned off the TV when he saw his boss looked like she was about to explode.

"UUGH Is everything conspirating against me!" she growled, making everybody flinch.

Bridgette came forward. "Courtney, calm down…-"

"How!" the brunette demanded. "There is nothing ready for Monday, and this meeting could make or _break_ this company!"

"I'm sure they'll understand," the blonde said. "If you just explain to them…-"

"Wait," Courtney halted her. "…no." A thoughtful expression took over her face, keeping the other three in suspense for her decision. After a few moments, she seemed to find peace in her mind, and she straightened her back with a resolute disposition. She exhaled. "Yeah. I know what to do."

"You do?" Bridgette was surprised but happy she had found a solution so quickly. Then again, her friend was known for carrying out seemingly impossible deeds in the past.

Trend and Ezekiel just looked relieved. "In that case, Miss Reyes, if you don't need us anymore we'll go and keep working," Trent said catiously in behalf of the three of them.

"Go," Courtney dismissed as she sat back behind her desk. "And Bridgette when you go out,"

"Uh-huh?"

"I want you to send a memo to all employees. I want it to say that everybody in this company has to come to work tomorrow."

Ezekiel was the first to react, stopping dead in his tracks and snapping his head up and back at the woman, "Wait-_What_?" but a second later he met his boss' eyes and cringed.

Trent and Bridgette had also stopped and were gaping.

"Courtney, but… you can't," the blonde said. "It's _Christmas_ tomorrow," a look from the brunette reminded her she did not care for the holiday, and she added, "Do you know what everyone's gonna say about working through Christmas?"

"Ask them how they'd feel about not having a _job_ for Christmas," Courtney replied.

"Miss Reyes, w-with all the respect" Trent started waveringly. "You can't _keep_ us here. People wanna be with their families, they want to go home a-and…-"

"Well they should have thought of that before," the brunette retorted. "Before slacking these last few days like they were already on vacation. And yes, I'm talking to you, Trent." The man's shoulders dropped. "Look, this is a problem, and I'm merely solving it the best way I see possible. With just one extra day we can really make it to that meeting, and I see no reason to waste that opportunity."

Bridgette looked at Courtney speechless as she talked; for the first time in their friendship looking at her with actual worry. She… wouldn't really keep them there, right? She was just trying to scare them… right?

Courtney looked up at her stagnant employees. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go, Bridgette, send that memo. And you two, _find_ something to do," she sat back on her desk "there's plenty to be done—and plenty of time to do it."

The three looked at each other in silence, each silently asking the other to say something. Seeing as no one knew which path to take at the moment, one after the other they exited the office.

Once outside, the three assembled and discussed the situation at hand, which they could hardly believe themselves, but none of the three could see a way to change their boss' mind. The grim outcome seemed to be inevitable.

Watching from her office, Courtney could tell Bridgette had given the memo, because hours later, the building seemed to be submerged in a dark cloud. From jumping around in zeal and handing out wreaths and exchanging _Merry Christmas'es_ between each other, the employees had gone to moving slowly from a place to another, carrying their heads low.

Courtney watched from her office and shook her head. Truly, they acted like children would in this same situation. She was still, after all, allowing them to go to that Christmas party of theirs. She had given them vacations for years! They were her workers; they were supossed to see things her way, to work as much for the well-being of the company as she did.

Hours went by. After Courtney's decision, nobody thought of going to her office to tell her or ask her anything. It actually worked for her, as it turned out to be easily one of her most peaceful ever days at work.

Little before closing time, Courtney was sipping on a coffee –her seventh that day- as she cleared up her desk, when there came a knock on the door, and then Bridgette peeked her head in.

"Can I come in?"

The brunette made a resigned motion with her hand, already knowing what was coming.

The blond gingerly walked in, not saying a word. She walked near the shelves and started picking through Courtney's decorations.

"Any chance you'll change your mind?" she asked her as she held a little marble elephant. "You know, calling off Christmas?"

Courtney tiredly rolled her eyes, but decided to give the woman a proper answer. "Bridgette, if they love the holiday so much, they can celebrate it later," she explained, "in January, when the busy season is over."

The blonde shook her head. "Court, I know you don't celebrate Christmas. But other people do." The brunette rolled her eyes and continued collecting her things. "Do you even know what you're ruining?"

"Hey! I'm letting them go to that party of yours, aren't I?" the woman defended herself. "Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

"But we can't enjoy it if we have work to look forward to tomorrow," Bridgette explained. She paused to look at the other woman, and her clear eyes shone with something indescribable. "You truly don't get it do you?"

The two girls were faced each other in silence. They were a foot away from the other, but an invinsible barrier separated them. Neither of them understood the other; or so it seemed.

The silence was upsetting, and Courtney broke it with a swift accusation, "I know why you're here."

"Oh, _really_?" Bridgette couldn't keep herself from snapping.

"Yeah!" the brunette replied. "And _forget_ it. Don't think that because you're my _friend_ I'm gonna let you off the hook."

"What?" Bridgette hissed, hurt in her eyes. Who _was_ this person in front of her?

"That's right," Courtney said. "You thought you could just waltz in here and talk about friendship, and I'd tell you to just go home to Geoff, and let the _others_ come to work tomorrow," she folded her arms. "You know what, Bridgette? Wether you like it or not, you're still part of this company. You might as well start acting like it."

"Courtney, I don't even—" Bridgette's voice broke in frustration, and she looked like she was about to cry.

"What?" the brunette demanded.

Bridgette looked as if she was about to respond; she opened her mouth but hesitated, then she shook her head and walked past Courtney, towards the door.

Courtney watched her, and picked her coat from the hanger. "Take your stuff," she said coldly.

The blonde stopped, turned to take her coat, and then resumed her exit. Once at the door, she paused, seeming to change her mind again, and took a couple of deep breaths. Without turning, she muttered something Courtney didn't hear.

"What was that?" the brunette demanded.

"I said I feel like I don't know you anymore!" Bridgette said, looking at her. "I always defend you, you know? From them," she pointed to outside the office to indicate the rest of the company, even though it was just the two of them left in the building. "Because I feel like you're still my old friend somewhere down there. But you make it harder every day. Every day, you get worse." Her eyes were glassy now.

Bridgette stood, looking at the other girl as if she expected her words to suddenly start affecting her if she stared hard enough; the other girl looked on with no expression on her face, almost as if she was counting the seconds for her to leave so she could resume her life.

The blonde finally turned around and walked out. The door slammed, dismissing what was probably Courtney's only friend left.

* * *

Yeah well. Wanted to give the most famous Christmas story ever a try :) I probably won't be able to finish in time for Christmas, but oh well :/

If any of what comes out of Courtney's mouth when she talks about something company or law-related makes _any_ sense, it was purely accidental.

_~The Lighthouse_


	2. Chapter 2

**A Christmas Ghost Story**

* * *

Chapter 2: Something Wicked

* * *

Courtney stood, watching her assistant through the glass wall as she got in the elevator without looking back. After she disappeared from sight, the brunette rolled her eyes dispassionately. She finished gathering her things inside her suitcase and left it on her desk, ready to be taken home.

But Courtney was not going home that night. Actually, she rarely ever went home anymore. Most days she worked until late, and it just was not logical to walk late at night to her apartment in the city.

And Courtney owned no car, nor did she even consider spending money on taxis; she certaintly could afford it, but walking every day saved a dramatic amount of money. Plus, she had a long chair in her office that served for the purpose of laying down whenever she felt too tired.

She did not mind, and in fact almost _liked_, being at her company for days to end; it was the place where she had reminders of her success in sight. And, at her apartment, she had almost… nothing.

Because of that, she hardly ever left. There was simply _too_ much to do _all_ the time… Courtney knew she needed to make sacrifices if she wanted to achieve everything she wanted to achieve in her lifetime.

At night, the company remained alight. The only dark spot in the whole building was Heather's old office. When Courtney left her office to lock the doors, as every night, she turned to the empty room and stared at it, unlike every night. It looked particularly gloomy that night; Courtney thought that there was probably no moon.

Courtney sipped her coffee as the elevator lowered all the way to the lobby. She went down the five marble steps towards the outer door, keys in hand.

Since the building was an old one, and it did not have much of the technology modern companies had, Courtney was forced to pull by force both extremely old, fifteen-foot-tall doors, which stood open and welcoming during the day, closed—by herself.

One step at a time, she brought both doors together, and put the key in the lock—only to remove it a second later.

"Ah," she gasped softly, and for a moment she abandoned whatever she might have been thinking at the moment, surprised by what she had just seen.

For a moment there, she thought the door handle stopped being a door handle, and became Heather's face.

…Heather's face.

Courtney's mind raced as she tried to rationalize what had just happened. Yes, she had been thinking about Heather right before coming down. But then again, no imagination was strong enough to make you surprised out of your thoughts. She put a hand over her heart, which was racing for no reason.

When she looked at the handle again, it was back to being a handle. Big, round, and not in any way resembling of a human face.

Courtney looked at the cup of coffe in her hand with serious distrust.

Slowly, gingerly, she introduced the key back in the lock. She turned it twice, and when nothing out of the ordinary happened, she did the same with the other three locks under it, gradually arriving to normal speed.

She went back up her steps and started pulling the inner doors closed. When it was only two pulls away from being completely closed, Courtney found herself pausing and staring at the outer doors, where she had seen Heather's face so clearly.

The same ivory skin, same hard black eyes, same stern expression she used to wear; Courtney didn't even think she remembered Heather's features that well. Everything was the same, except the way it made her feel: the face was surrounded in a very ghastly kind. An omen of something wrong, something… _wicked_.

Courtney shook her head, and her features hardened. Overcome by a sudden outrage, she grabbed the door and slammed it shut. In direct reaction to this, the whole building seemed to shake; the sound echoed all the way up to the last floor. And while this would have made any other person feel considerably uneasy, Courtney was actually reassured by this 'response' of sorts. That way, she knew everything was where it should be; she knew the sounds of her building by heart.

And because she knew the sounds of her building so perfectly well, she immediately knew something was wrong when she heard the wind whistling through the closed windows; the wind had never been able to slip through those windows before. She calmed herself thinking that it was just because the wind must be stronger than other nights.

"_Oooooooooooooooooooo…_" the wind whistled.

And even though it was physically incongruent, Courtney shivered from a cold she did not feel.

"_Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_…"

She hurried up in going to close the four locks. Even though she told herself she was being irrational, she was very keen on going back to her office, safe, warm, and secure.

She put the key in the first one, turned it twice and moved on to the second one.

"_Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo_…"

She closed the second lock, and moved on to the third. Inserted the key, turned it twice, removed the key.

"…"

Courtney put the key in the last lock and tried to turn it, but it jammed. She fumbled with it for a few seconds, but it wouldn't turn.

She finally removed the key altogether and decided to try again. But when she went to put in the key, it bumped against the lock and fell to the ground, with a resounding group of _clinks_. Courtney kneeled down desperately.

"_Loooooooooooooooooooooo-sseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrr_…"

Courtney's head snapped up. "Heather?" she squeaked.

As soon as she heard her own voice, every other sound seemed to stop. Her voice hung, alone, in the air, and she suddenly felt very stupid for the way she had driven herself into paranoia.

She _pfft_-ed, "How stupid," she said, trying to ignore her shaking voice. She grabbed her forehead, and shook her head as she picked up the keys.

She introduced the key a third time, this time making sure to do it slowly. "So stupid," she murmured to herself. "Getting frightened by the wind… the freakin' wind, no less…"

_Click!_

In spite of all her puffing and scolding, Courtney turned around violently, pressing herself against the door when she heard this sound. It had been a rather subtle sound, and if she had not been so jumpy, she might not even have heard it.

She scanned her surroundings, and could not find anything that had changed on the scenery… _oh, yes_. One of the many lights that filled the roof had gone out.

A light had gone out. That was all.

Courtney started massaging her temples as she took a few tentative steps towards the elevator. Her knees felt weak now. She told herself she was probably stressed. Her fingers tightened around her cup of coffee, which she planned on throwing away when she came across a trash can.

She got to the elevator and pressed for her floor, and relaxed inside the compartment. After a while the doors opened and the comforting scenery that greeted her was that of her floor, at the end of which was her office.

She walked out, and immediately heard a sound that again filled her with dread.

_Click!_

She didn't look up as she continued to walk calmly to her office: she would have sped, but she had too much pride in herself to do that.

_Click! Click! Click!_

She didn't look up still as more lights behind her went out.

_Shoom._

A whole line of light bulbs had gone out.

Courtney's heart was racing. The rate the lights were going out behind her sped and started to catch up with her, and the way to her office suddenly seemed too far away.

_Shoom_.

_Shoom_.

_SHOOM_.

The noise had gone from very subtle to deafening. She heard nothing beside the lights dying, and now she could see nothing, too.

_SHOOM_.

The brunette finally started running, as fast as she could on heels. She was soon running in darkness, and she didn't have time to call all of this stupid anymore; she was running for her life, if only from the abysmal darkness.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she got to her office—her safe, secure, _alight_ office. She swung the door closed and fastened every bolt.

She stood glued to the door for a while, taking her time to calm down; she was being irrational still, but she was filled with fright for some reason. This had never happened the other nights she worked late. She looked at the lights in the room, and she prayed hard and long that those lights would not go out. She didn't have any candles near, or even a flashlight, because she had never had any use for those before.

Courtney threw the remainder of her coffe in the trash and decided that going to sleep would be the sensible course of action. She lay down on her long chair, and stared at an undefinite point on her office; so that she would get some sleep when all the fright had washed off.

And just when she had started to doze off, she heard it. A sound that froze her blood.

_No way_.

There was someone in the building. Down below, walking the lobby._ No way in hell_.

Someone couldn't be on the lobby! She had just closed those doors, and she still had the key! She felt the pocket of her dress to comfirm the last statement.

Whoever or whatever it was, it produced a heaving clanking sound, as if it was dragging an assortment of metal gear along with them.

Courtney, now wide awake, got up, looked around the room frantically and grabbed a black umbrella. It was slick and hard-tipped, and she knew for a fact it could cause some damage. She stood next to the door and held it in swinging position as she ran through every possibility in her mind.

They could be burglars. Ones that apparently made no effort in going unheard; but then, they could have thought the building was empty.

It was not a coworker; nobody else had the key to both doors.

It wasn't a ghost—Courtney wasn't even sure why she had thought of that possibility, but there was no way. Everybody knew ghosts were free spirits; as in, they floated in the air free of weight and they didn't ever drag chains or heavy objects with them.

With seemingly no separation point, she heard the dragging closer and closer until she was certain they were on her very floor. Her fingers tightened around the umbrella until her knuckles turned white. She listened to the sounds getting closer and adopted a fierce expression on her face, as she stood in place like a soldier. _No one was getting through. Not under __her__ watch_.

Suddenly the sounds stopped. Courtney held her breath as her heart beat a mile an hour.

And then the door swung open, revealing a translucent, hovering-five-inches-off-the-ground figure, so terrifying that Courtney actually wavered and took two steps back, something that had never happened to her before. The figured crossed the room at speed and in no time, it was in front of the stunned brunette.

"Courtney," it said.

The brunette shrieked at top of her lungs, with all the strength of her mezzo-soprano voice, and promtly swung the umbrella violently at the _thing_.

It went right through it and, as it went out of Courtney's hand, landed five feet ahead with a set of _clanks_. The being looked at her with annoyance.

Deeply moved by the occurrence, Courtney scurried back, falling on a sitting position and backed away as she stared with her eyes nearly popping, heaving scrambled words,

"You—you— you are… you _can't_ be—but you are a… a…" she couldn't say it.

The spirit saved her the effort. "I'm Heather Rhodes. Your associate."

With that statement, it was as if shadows suddenly cleared from the spirit's face for Courtney; she had been so stunned she had not repaired on the identity of the ghost, but now, it was as if a candle had lightened up her face, allowing her to recognize her old friend.

"Heather…" Courtney whispered, awed.

It was her, no doubts: same long dark hair, same tight features and stern dark eyes; the same she had seen not long ago on the door. Looking past her, she saw an explanation for the dragging noise; behind her, there was a number of metal goods connected to chains that were attached to Heather somehow, disappearing into the folds of her fog-like white dress.

Courtney focused back on her ghostly face. "But—but how? You're… I mean, three years ago, you…"

"What? _Died_? Oh, don't worry, I know," the spirit said. "I'm not one of those ghosts who don't realize they're dead."

Courtney believed her heart was about to jump out of her chest. She felt for a chair behind her and hoisted herself with her arms to sit on it. "I, uh…Please, t-take a seat," she said.

The spirit narrowed her eyes contemptuously instead. "Don't be _stupid_," she spat. "Everybody knows ghosts can't _sit_." Her tone was deriding, but her treating Courtney like she used to helped a great deal to put her at ease. She was still trembling, and her knees still felt weak, but she was able to calm down a little.

"Well, I also thought ghosts weren't supossed to _carry_ stuff," she returned in an equal tone, gesturing to behind Heather.

Heather suddenly looked saddened. Courtney found herself staring at her; she looked so different than the woman she remembered, with her shoulders slouched and her face tired and afflicted. She looked so… miserable.

"So what are those?" Courtney asked quietly.

"That's what I came to warn you about," Heather said. "These," she gestured at her load. "Are the chains I forged in life. Boxes full of treasures, money and gold, that I never shared with anybody but me." She abandoned her somber tone for a moment, and turned to Courtney adopting a more familiar spiteful voice. "Except for a bit of money I left my _associate_ for my memorial, which she did not _use_."

"Oh! Uh," Nervous at being called out by what was still a potentially dangerous spirit, Courtney explained, "I-I thought it'd be _nice_ to have you buried at sea."

Heather pointed an acussing finger at her. "Bullshit you _loser_, you're so cheap you let the whole building freeze over s'long as you're warm in your little rathole!"

"Look who's talking! You're worse than me. You used to take pennies out of every month's salary so we could _afford_ that heater!" Courtney countered.

"So? You run this enterprise like it's the military. You're so mean you don't even leave people days off if they're sick," Heather accused with a smirk, laughter in her voice as she exposed the other woman.

"It is an honor to work in this place!" Courtney defended, but she wasn't really offended, and smirked as she fired back, "Remember when you stood up DJ just as punishment for asking you out? Poor guy. He always had a crush on you and you didn't even give him a chance!" Courtney recalled; the accusations had gotten consistently less attacking and more conspiring.

Heather leaned back as she let the memory wash over her. "Oh, yeah" she then laughed guiltily. "That was by far the meanest thing I've ever done."

"No, the meanest was when you clocked people out when they were still working," Courtney contradicted, and they both laughed together again.

Courtney did not feel like she was in presence of a scary ghost anymore; as far as she was concerned, she had an old friend back. Heather and she— they could always be a bit shallow and with each other. The laughter died away and Courtney said, "You were a marketing genius."

"Haha, yeah," the other sighed. Then Heather's head snapped up. "Wait, no. No, it's nothing to be proud of! I was selfish! I was mean!"

Courtney was unsettled at the change in mood, and when her words sunk in, she was even more unsettled. She gave the spirit a long, skeptic look, unable to belive Heather would say something like that and actually _mean_ it.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"I am not kidding! _Listen_ to what I came to tell you! In life all I did was take advantage of the weak and think of no one but myself. Now I'm forced to roam around carrying _these_ everywhere I go."

Courtney listened to her old friend, but was oblivious as to what the big deal was. She walked behind Heather to take a closer look at her 'baggage'.

They were purses and steel boxes; some with locks, some with spin dials and others with nothing. They were even pretty. Okay, they looked heavy to carry, but… she didn't understand why Heather seemed so hateful towards them.

She picked one up, a box, and smiled. "It's what you forged on life, alright. Look at this—this box looks _loaded_. Full of gold and who knows what else."

The box was suddenly yanked from her hands, so suddenly that it skinned her fingers, and when she looked at the spirit again, it had taken a terrifying quality.

"Oh, _yes_! Lots of boxes, lots of them!" It screamed, as it seemed to gain size. "Which I cannot ever hope to _OPEN_! And which I'm forced to carry around _ANYWAY_!" Courtney immediately lost any feeling of ease she might have had; this wasn't Heather anymore, it was again a menacing spirit. Her hair floated as if it had life of its own, and her features were twisted and distorted in the most perturbing way. "I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't _rest_! I can only roam around the same old places again and again and _again_!"

Her voice was booming and evil, and every time she screamed, Courtney felt wind on her face. The brunette was soon desperately pressed against the wall, covering her face with her arms. The spirit's eyes had turned black, and so had the mist-like quality that surrounded her, that quickly went to fill and darken the rest of the room like a thick fog.

The ghost suddenly extended an arm to the wall, shooting out strings of dark power that went to create the pattern of a scene on the wall. Courtney soon realized the figure was Heather herself.

"Every time I was selfish, every time I kept for myself something that could have been shared, a chain was created," she told, still in that inhuman voice. On the wall, a wicked-looking Heather was shown mindlessly taking treasures from other people and denying her own to others in need.

Courtney could not look away from the wall; she was blown away by the twisted spectacle she was mounting.

"Every time I was cruel, left someone behind, or refused to help others, a box was created." The shadow was Heather's ghost now, getting repeatedly chained and weighed down by the boxes. "Boxes after boxes of the weirdest kinds of locks" The shadow took a box and tried to get it open, to no avail. "And not, one, _KEY_!" The shadow was shown getting more and more desperate, until it tried to smash the box against everything it could find. The torture in its actions, even when the shadow had no face, was painfully evident.

"And YOU," she turned her apalling face to Courtney, who pressed herself harder against the wall. "Are forging your own chains right now— every time you close your heart, every time you're mean or unforgiving or unhelpful or hurtful to people. Eventually, you'll be the same as _ME_." Courtney realized with a start that the despairing shadow was no longer Heather, but herself.

She suddenly felt the weight of chains on her own body, in a way that was so real that she had to look down to make sure that they weren't really there. She felt one particularly clearly, a fetter around her neck that exerted a mild pressure, enough to make it hard for her to breath normally. She tried to touch it, but only felt the delicate skin of her neck; still she felt the chocking sensation.

She looked up to the wall, and to her dread, the Courtney in the wall pulled desperately at a fetter around her neck. Courtney felt like crying, as the weight her shadow self was attached to seemed to grow in number.

Heather made herself heard again.

"But _your_ weight, Courtney Reyes, will be ten times worse!"

As the ghost said this, the show of shadows dissolved into several erratic bird-like shadows, which lunged at Courtney and swarmed around her. The brunette fell to the ground as she hopelessly batted the shadows, scream after scream pouring from her mouth.

Eventually they faded away, and Courtney looked up, trembling and holding her head. Heather's spirit was still inhumanly tall and mighty; but its features were not as distorted, and the mist she gathered was light again.

"Just a warning," she said, as she got gradually less intimidating. "Just a friendly warning."

"I—is that it?" Courtney spoke suddenly, surprising even herself; hearing something as normal as her own voice seemed alien after what she had just experienced, and she couldn't believe she was talking directly to the being that had made her go through it. "That's my fate? I have no way to change it?"

"That you can," the spirit kneeled down in front of her; she was normal size again. "But it'll take some work in your part. In the following three days, three spirits will come and visit you."

Courtney's heart sunk when she heard this; but she was too scared to protest. She just listened.

"The first will come tomorrow when the clock strikes twelve. The second, the day after tomorrow at the same hour. And… well, you catch my drift," Heather said, and Courtney nodded, if just to keep her happy. "They will show you the error of your ways, better than I ever could."

She got up and finished with a stern warning. "If you're smart, you'll listen to what they have to say. Now, I have to go."

The spirit slowly turned around and crossed the room slowly, routinely picking a chain and throwing it forward, then another, then another in a practised way.

It was at the door when Courtney had recovered enough to speak. "Wait," she called.

The ghost turned. "What?"

"What're you gonna do now?" Courtney asked her.

"What do you think? I'm gonna keep wandering."

"But… don't you get _points_ for this? I mean, why else would you be here?"

"I'm always _here_, and nobody sees me. I don't know why you suddenly can see me tonight," Heather interjected.

"But—you did your good deed. Shouldn't you get to go to like, purgatory now? You know, something _better_… than _this_?"

The spirit looked at her like it would say something. But she just looked at her, and again, she looked so miserable that it shocked Courtney. Her ghostly face was a reflection of weariness of centuries of torture and the resignation of a saint.

She didn't know for how long she stared at the spirit, but slowly, relunctantly, it began to fade until it disappeared. And it did so so gradually that Courtney didn't even realize the exact moment she stopped seeing her.

Courtney stayed there a long time, just sitting on the floor, staring at the spot where Heather's face had been. She sat there, motionless, for so long that she started to question whether what had just happened had really happened. The last minutes (hours?) sounded like they belonged to a dream, they even _felt_ like a dream, but logic didn't support that.

If it was all a dream, when had she gone to sleep?

And if she was awake _now_, why were the lights outside still off? (By the way, Courtney didn't find the menacing darkness anymore— what was a bit of darkness next to what she had just experienced?)

Has she imagined all the 'signs' that the spirit was coming? Or alternatively, had she gotten particularly alarmed by them because she could sense the coming of a spirit?

Maybe she had really fallen asleep when she lay down. She had seen the lights go off, gotten paranoid, and dreamed in result, everything from the racket of the chains to Heather's ghost.

Heather would never say something like what she came to say.

But if she was awake right now, how had she ended up sitting on the ground?

Courtney got up, ackowledging that she would resolve nothing sitting like this. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the lights come back. She decided to sleep for a while, until it was time for her employees to start arriving. When she woke up, the building would probably be full of people, which would make her forget all about the happenings of the night.

She turned off the lights in her office and drew the curtains over the glass wall that looked outside her office. Then she lay down on her chair and for any given reason, be it the exhaustion from what she had just seen, or any magic-related enchantment, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the cushion.

_

* * *

_

_Happy New Years, everybody!_

Anonymous Rex: Well thank you! Hope you had very happy holidays too :)

CarmillaD: Pero gracias! :) Juju, ya vas a ver lo que tengo planeado planeado para el resto, sobre todo el pasado de Courtney! ;)

Hi: Hi! Thanks :)

Degrassi4evah12: Well, I guess I should thank you for taking the time to review, but there's really not much I can so with that review. A review is supossed to give praise or critique the writing, and this doesn't say much of… anything. Happy holidays.

Wow, I was really scatter-brained the day I submitted the first chapter, I forgot to say all I wanted to say. What I wanted to do with this story was to go the exact opposite way from Dickens and the classical elements of a Christmas Carol (minus the obvious, mean person, four ghosts, ultimate redemption, etc.).

Starting with the title: in the prologue C.D. says how this is a ghost story, and I thought it'd be a good idea starting with what might have been Dickens' second choice/working title.

Then I went against one of the best-known elements of the story which is the first line, '_Marley was dead: to begin with_'; instead I have you believe (I think) that Heather can be alive ;) Then there's elements like Courtney being a young thing, and other little references like Heather's ghost not being able to sit, unlike Marley's ghost who tells Scrooge they indeed can. Plus a number of other things along the way, including the biggest change from the original, which you will see in the next chapter :D *is excited*

By the way, Total Drama Island is not mine, and neither is Dickens' A Christmas Carol.

_ ~The Lighthouse_


End file.
